


Peppermint and Jameson

by fizzydive



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Bartender Isaac Lahey, Bartender Stiles Stilinski, Beta Isaac Lahey, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Full Shift Werewolves, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, References to Panic Attacks, References to anxiety, Scott is a Bad Friend, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzydive/pseuds/fizzydive
Summary: Werewolves were nothing new, but they’d gotten angrier over the years. Stiles thought frustrated was a better word, but frustrated didn’t sell newspapers or raise viewer ratings. The whole ordeal was stupid anyways... Werewolves had been there first - everyone knew that.( Stiles is an Omega bartender who drinks too much and spends too much time at home by himself. Derek is the Alpha of a well known pack, just trying to be good to the ones he calls family. Or the one where Stiles is the Emotional Dumbass and Derek just wants to help. )
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Comments: 23
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> alrighty fanfic readers. this is my first time writing a fic and i haven't watched more than the first season of teen wolf lmao but i've read a ton of sterek fic. you can just assume right now that everyone is going to be out of character! anyways, if you see any glaring mistakes let me know :-) 
> 
> not super in love with the title, so we'll see how long it lasts.
> 
> if you'd like to see how i picture stiles in this fic click  
> [ here](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/5b/78/57/5b78576a599ba885781950a9b3573f30.png), if you want to use your imagination, dont click.

### 

Nobody's Omega 

It’s cold outside. The air brushes against his cheeks and leave them a gentle pink. He can see his breath. Stiles pulls his jacket tight against his body as he walks with his head down. _Head down, head down, head down._

Things in town had been tense. Werewolves were nothing new, but they’d gotten angrier over the years. Stiles thought frustrated was a better word, but frustrated didn’t sell newspapers or raise viewer ratings. The whole ordeal was stupid anyways. Werewolves had staked claim to the land since before human settlers had begun showing up. That was in every history book throughout the country (which was slowly changing, unfortunately). Werewolves had been there first - everyone knew that. Stiles knew that. He’d always been intrigued as a child. Wandering curiosity and too many questions for anyone to handle. He’d spent a lot of his teenage years googling and reading and, sometimes, creeping (he wasn’t proud of those moments, but he’d been horny and curious and stupid and a whole multitude of other adjectives). He moved from town to town after graduating high school - His dad letting him float through his late teens and early twenties, taking classes online and working every service job he could find. 

Stiles had always been a talkative kid, he’d been a bumbling idiot for a while too, though he stopped trying to control that years ago. Service jobs suited him well, anything involving alcohol suited him even better. Bartending was a happy middle ground. Being an omega made things… difficult at times. He never shied away from difficult situations, though. Sometimes it was more fun to claw your way out of a problem. 

“It’s too damn cold,” he complains, easily falling into step with Scott. 

He doesn’t see his old friend as often anymore. Scott was a homebody, always had been, and spent most of his time back home. Stiles tended to avoid home like the plague, only going back for the holidays and the odd birthday or two. Home felt suffocating. He didn’t even know if he could call home, _home_ anymore. He didn’t have a home, not really. He just floated from place to place, meeting as many people as he could. Soaking up as much information as possible. The wider his reach, the calmer his mind felt.

“You’re the one who moved up here,” Scott laughs. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets and he bumps his shoulder against Stiles’. “Show me this awesome werewolf bar you work at.” 

Honestly, Stiles knows Scott is apprehensive about his current place of employment. Scott was a gentle Alpha, but still a werewolf nonetheless and he knew how bad a simple Beta could be. Needless to say, Stiles had gotten an earful regarding his job. 

Stiles rolls his eyes, leading the way. Despite the tension zinging through the air like static electricity, he felt safer with Scott next to him. He didn’t know if it was because Scott was an Alpha or because he was a wolf. Maybe it was both. Either way, he felt much less jittery. Perhaps that was why he felt at ease when he was working. Few single Omegas frequented the bar and being surrounded by Beta’s and Alpha’s settled his evolutionary instincts, at least for a short while. 

Most Omega’s that he knew had a partner (at the bare minimum). Even more of them lived with a Pack. It was hard being a single Omega, but living without a pack was nearly soul crushing. Stiles manages, though. He worked nearly everyday, which helped, but going back to an empty apartment every night made his chest tighten. 

“You’re gonna love Isaac,” Stiles says, pushing open the door to the bar. 

It was still pretty early, which meant it’d be pretty dead. There were always a few stragglers, but they paid no mind to Stiles anymore. An unfamiliar Alpha would probably cause some drama, unfortunately, but Scott was always good at navigating those situations. Stiles was grateful for that.

Isaac is smiling from behind the bar, “Hey man!” Stiles doesn’t miss the way his eyes narrow in on Scott. 

“Hey,” Stiles greets, walking over and grabbing a seat at the bar. “This is Scott.” Stiles hates introductions, so he lets Scott do the talking - and do the talking he does. Stiles can already tell that Isaac is enamored with the black-haired Alpha and wonders how that will play out with the Beta’s pack. Stiles knows that pack business is not his business, but makes a mental note to ask Isaac about it at the end of their shift when they’re both too drunk to have a decent filter. 

Stiles climbs behind the bar and heads to the back office. He peels off his jacket and sweats and leaves them in his locker. He passes by the mirror quickly before heading back onto the floor. His hair is too long and he needs to shave, but overall he looks fine. Feels fine too - just needed a few drinks in him, is all. A few visits from some regulars and he’d be feeling a-okay in no time. 

The shift starts slowly, but it doesn’t take long before he can no longer chat with just Scott. Stiles was in his element, all smiles and jokes and quick cocktails. Wolfsbane Liquor is fucking gross, but it knocked wolves on their asses so Stiles happily pours shots, taking a few of his own when they offer. He reaches a warm bubbly level easily and the atmosphere of pack fills him up from his toes to the ends of his hair - even if it is artificial. 

Scott deals with the barrage of Werewolf machismo like a pro, while Isaac watches nervously from behind the bar, tending the customers between anxious glances. Stiles tries not to laugh. 

He gets too drunk to remember to ask Isaac about his pack.

\- * -

Scott stays in town longer than previously agreed too. Stiles doesn’t mind - enjoys it more than he should, probably. He soaks up the warmth that an Alpha werewolf brings to his apartment. He wakes up feeling rested and makes breakfast for the two of them every morning, an extra pep in his step through every chore. He even turns in a twenty page essay 3 weeks early. Scott seems happier too. They fall asleep together every night, long limbs tangled and noses buried against warm skin.

Things are great... until they aren’t. Slowly, Scott spends less and less time at Stiles’. It doesn’t bother him at first, but then the all consuming feeling of being alone settles in and Stiles gets angry. He knows he’s being irrational because he’d been alone before and been just fine, but Scott had teased him. He reminded him of what it was like to have a home, not just a house. It hurt, but Stiles smiles and talks to his regulars and laughs when Scott comes into the bar. He even tries to feel okay when Scott talks to him and Isaac - _but mostly Isaac_. Things go back to normal, Stiles is okay with that. 

He tells himself he’s okay with that. Okay, okay, _you’re okay_ , okay okay. 

Sometimes he gets drunker than he means too and his manager yells at him.

\- * -

There’s a new regular at the bar. Stiles isn’t sure if he can really call him a regular since he doesn’t ever actually come to the bar, but he’s there nearly every night, so Stiles decides to call him a regular. In his mind, at least. His mind is his own, okay? He has the right.

It’s a particularly busy night and Scott’s talking Isaac’s ear off, sipping on his one drink ( _His one drink of the night, seriously? What was this? A senior citizens home?_ ). Stiles is annoyed because Isaac isn’t helping at all because he’s too busy talking to Scott about video games or something. Stiles tries to calm himself down by taking a few extra shots. His regulars are agitated because Mr. Broody Regular is radiating angry Alpha energy like it’s his only job and Stiles is slowly losing it. He can see said Alpha burning holes into Scott’s back with his eyes and he’s had enough. He slaps Isaac on the arm, huffing in annoyance. “Broody regular is fucking with _**my**_ regulars,” he informs, words coming out more slurred than expected. Stiles straightens himself in a feeble attempt to seem more sober. 

Isaac eyes him suspiciously before turning his attention to the crowd. His eyes fall on Mr. Broody Regular and he groans, hand instantly hiding his face. “Fuck,” Isaac groans again, moving to lean against the bar. Stiles tries not to scream because there are currently three people trying to flag Isaac down and he is seemingly unaware. Was he working alone tonight, or what?

“Okay, yes, _**fuck**_ ,” he hisses, “can you help me out here dude? Were in the fucking weeds. I can only pour and talk so fast.” Stiles glances between Scott and Isaac, cheeks flushed because he’s overworked and stretched too fucking thin to be dealing with this right now. Apparently Isaac couldn’t hear him because he does nothing to help.

“That’s my Alpha,” the curly-haired wolf grumbles, glancing out at said Alpha then back at Scott. 

“Okay cool, fucking awesome, great,” Stiles begins, pouring two different drinks and waving down a third customer. No way was Isaac’s getting any of the tips tonight. “Wait, what?” The information finally hits his brain and he drops the liquor bottles back onto the shelf. “ _That's_ your alpha?” Isaac nods dumbly, grabbing a beer for a customer. _Finally_.

Stiles passes the cocktails to their respective drinkers, eyes trained on the figure sitting at the far table. So that was Derek. Isaac had mentioned the man a few times here and there. Nothing too detailed or informative (which was pretty normal for wolves, Stiles had gathered), but enough for him to form some sort of opinion. 

He was a tough alpha who cared for his pack unlike any other, apparently. Isaac had gone through so many hurdles before getting a job at the bar. There were few human bartenders in werewolf bars, but a pack’d Beta was a rarity too. Werewolf bars were a hub of dynamic energy and smells and secret meetings which was dangerous for established packs. No wonder Isaac was looking pained. 

Stiles is about to hop over the bar and tell Derek to stop being a fucking creeper when the Alpha starts making his way over to the bar. Stiles busies himself quickly, chatting with some of the customers and taking another shot. The alcohol drenches his bones, dripping down from his heart to his lungs and landing with a thud in his stomach. 

“I’m Derek.” 

Stiles can’t help but eavesdrop. He smiles at a customer while he pours a drink, but his mind is fully engulfed in the conversation happening a few feet away from him. 

“Scott.”

“Great, you’re acquainted. Nice, okay. Derek see you at home.” Isaac is practically begging, his tone of voice desperately embarrassed. 

The Alphas exchange a glance before lifting their wrists to each others noses. It’s a simple greeting between wolves, more commonly used between Alphas. An easy way to grab their scent and discover who they are, what pack they were in, who pissed on the tree on the corner of Winker and Tulou - You know, werewolf stuff. Alright, so maybe he’s being dick. He just wants Isaac to pour some fucking drinks.

“Come over for dinner tomorrow,” Derek instructs. It’s not a question. “You can bring your Omega.” He nods toward Stiles. Scott agrees, apparently, because Derek places a fifty dollar bill on the counter before walking out. Stiles doesn’t even get the chance to argue. 

Scott spends the night that night, practically carrying a too-drunk Stiles to bed. They settle into their old routine pretty quickly. 

“I’m not your Omega,” Stiles mumbles, face pressed against his pillow. 

“I know,” Scott answers, eyes closed and breath heavy.

\- * -

Stiles wakes up slowly. His mind is filled with Alpha and pack and - “Fuck,” he groans, reaching out with grabby hands for Scott. The spot next to him is empty and he groans again, eyes shut tightly. There’s a repetitive thud behind his eyes and he curses his incessant need to get shit-faced at work. He drank way more than usual and he was definitely feeling it now. He sits up slowly, digging his palms into his eyes.

“Scott?” he calls out as he shuffles out of his bedroom. 

“Finally dude,” his friend replies from his spot on the couch, “It’s four o’clock. I thought you were dead.” He flicks through the channels and Stiles wants nothing more than to snatch the remote out of his hands because the light hurts his fucking head, but he doesn’t. Instead he drags himself to the kitchen to find some sort of sustenance. Anything to ease the bubbling of his stomach and the pounding in his head. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles in reply, yanking open the fridge and pulling out a leftover slice of pizza. He takes a bite out of it right away because seriously, cold pizza? The best fucking thing ever. Stiles is chewing carefully, leaning against the kitchen counter (near the sink, in case his body decides to betray him and reject the amazing delicacy that is cold, leftover pizza), when he hears Scott mumble something from the couch. 

“What?” he asks as he chews, walking closer to Scott. 

“I said,” the Alpha pauses, tone exasperated, “Don’t forget we have dinner with the Hale pack at seven.” Scott doesn’t even look away from the T.V., not even when Stiles inhales too quickly, chokes on a bite of pizza, and sputters. 

“Dude, I’m not your Omega. Why do I need to go?” 

Stiles really doesn’t want to go. Derek seemed intimidating and while Stiles was dying to see what a real Werewolf community looked like, he was not dying to see the pack life he was missing out on. He was just fine by himself, _thank you very much_ , and did not need to be reminded of what could, should, and yet, probably wouldn’t ever be. He liked having the space to roam and fuck up and learn. He didn’t want to be tied down, even if some days all he wanted was to be tied down (in more than one way). He could tell Scott really wanted to go though, even if he was playing it cool. His ridiculous channel flicking was enough of a clue. 

“You’re going because if I don’t bring you, I’m going to offend the dude. And I’m not going to piss off the Alpha of the Hale pack. I’m not suicidal.” Scott finally turns to look at Stiles, flashing his red eyes once. It’s enough to make Stiles duck his head, his own eyes flashing black once before he slams them shut.

“Not cool,” he hisses, stumbling back. “You know I hate when you do that.” 

And he really hates it. It’s probably numero uno on his list of why he doesn’t want to be with a pack. Why he doesn’t want to be with anyone. The stupid fucking pull that other people had over him. It was the worst with Alpha’s, but even a determined Beta could have influence over him. It made Stiles angry. It made him feel weak and powerless. It wasn’t fair that he could be bent and persuaded against his will. 

“Just go shower,” Scott huffs, turning his attention back to the T.V. “You smell like the bar.” 

Stiles is suddenly very ready for Scott to go the fuck back home. This is _his_ apartment. That he pays for with his own money. Scott hadn’t paid for shit and yet here he was using his influence on him. Fucking dick. 

“Fuck you.” Stiles turns on his heels and marches back into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. Fuck Scott and fuck Derek and fuck Alpha’s and, _you know what_ , fuck Beta’s too. He gets undressed angrily, stomps into the bathroom angrily, and gets into the shower angrily. The water is hot against his skin, nearly burning, yet it soothes him. He washes away the previous night, the disgusting feeling of influence all over him, and the hangover clinging on for dear life inside his skull. Stiles scrubs his skin until it’s red or until he feels like he’s his own person again and not Scott’s Omega. 

He steps out of the shower and into a steam filled bathroom, feeling brand new. He hopes he smells like artificial chemical scents, just to piss off the Alpha sitting on _his_ living room couch, watching _his_ T.V., and eating _his_ snacks. Stiles towel’s off lazily and brushes his teeth. A wave of nausea hits him when he brushes too far back on his tongue, but he swallows it back and finishes getting ready. 

He really wants a drink. 

What does one wear to meet a pack of Werewolves? Was this a black-tie event or a ripped shorts and barely-there shirt affair? Stiles chuckles to himself at the thought of that. He decides against both options and instead pulls on a pair dark wash jeans and a grey, long-sleeve henley. He checks his phone for the time and grimaces at the 6:17 PM staring back at him. How long had he been in the shower? _Jesus_. He pulls on a pair of thick wool socks before shuffling out of the room. He ignores the look of impatience Scott gives him from his spot near the front door ( _his_ front door, Stiles snarks in his head) and takes his sweet time pulling on his boots. He laces them slowly, ties them slowly, and stands up slowly. Giving Scott the biggest internal ‘Fuck You’ he can muster. Scott sighs and pulls the front door open. Stiles pulls his jacket off of the hook and follows Scott out of the apartment. He locks the door slowly, because this is his apartment, and takes his time following his friend ( _some friend_ , he thinks), just to be a little shit. 

“You’re a little shit,” Scott tells him once they’re both in the car.

“You’re a dick,” he retorts, crossing his arms. 

It’s a quiet car ride and all Stiles can think about is how good Scott smells and how badly he wants a drink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any mistakes, im currently drinking while editing :) anyways, if you have any comments or ideas or critiques, feel free to leave them in a comment! 
> 
> ive decided im going to try and post once a week, to kick my butt into writing mode. thanks for your patience!

### 

Lucky

Stiles has never been to this side of town. It’s not that he isn’t curious, because he _so_ is, but because he wasn’t really welcome. Well, he didn’t feel welcomed. This was Werewolf territory. Not because they claimed it or pissed all over it or any other dumbass speciest idea, but because the government had decided that this was the only spot that had the room for them. It was fucked up to say the least. Still, a lot of humans believed the propaganda: that this is what the wolves wanted, this is what they preferred. Stiles calls bullshit on that. Who wants to be corralled into one area and judged in every _other_ space?

As he stares out the window, he can't help but think that it _is_ sort of beautiful, though. The houses are small, but they all have front porches and they’re all painted a wide array of colors. Sort of the opposite of carbon-copy McMansion suburbia. There’s even people sitting on the porches, talking and smiling and laughing and- Stiles’ stomach twists up. Why did he have to come to this dinner? 

Scott is mostly silent from his spot in the driver's seat, save for the few house numbers he reads out loud as he passes them. The silence is really starting to eat away at Stiles’ fleeting sanity. 

One right turn, then left, then right and they finally slow to a stop. Stiles peers up at the large house through the windshield. Of course the Alpha would live in the biggest house in the community. Typical. The house is three stories and a deep shade of purple. The shutters are a bright white, too white, and Stiles wonders if they just painted them.

He’s surveying the rest of the house from the safety of the passenger seat when the front door opens and a smiling Isaac waves at them. Scott is climbing out of the car before Stiles can utter another protest. He debates locking the doors and cementing himself into the seat, but figures that would probably cause more attention than just going inside the damn house. _Fuck._

He slowly makes his way out of the car, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. His fingers wrap around a familiar aluminum object and the butterflies in his stomach settle into a slumber. He turns around to shut the door and pulls the object from the depth of his pocket. He drowns the butterflies in lukewarm whiskey and feels better almost immediately. _I can do this, I can do this, I can do this._

“You coming Stiles?” Isaac calls from the edge of the front porch. 

Stiles stuffs the flask back into his pocket, turns on his heels, and offers a ridiculous grin, “Yup!” 

Isaac and Scott wait for him on the porch before leading the way into the house. It’s surprisingly cozy inside. Stiles doesn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t this. The walls are covered in photos. Some of it is artwork and others look like family photos. There’s knickknacks and blankets on couches and it feels like a pretty inviting place. He hates the way his shoulders relax and his breathing slows. He can practically see the anxiety leaking out from his fingers and he wants to scoop it back into his body by the bucket full. Getting comfortable was not the plan. Being happy about this dinner was not the plan. Scott had forced him into it after all and if you really thought about it Derek forced Scott into it, too. So really, no one wanted to be here. Maybe the thought just made Stiles feel better about how dry his throat suddenly felt.

“The dining room is back here. The table is kind of ridiculously big but we have pack dinners here one night a week when mostly everyone is free. It’s awesome ‘cos I don’t have to cook.” The words flow from Isaac like a bubbling creek, bouncing over every stutter and pause with ease. Scott’s nodding like an idiot, a stupid smile on his stupid face. Stiles follows behind them quietly. 

“Stiles you okay?” 

“Yah fine,” he replies, waving Isaac off. He keeps his attention on the photos covering the walls because he’s a nosy bastard and it makes it easier to avoid the two wolves walking ahead of him.

Isaac doesn’t pry any further, neither does Scott. 

The dining room is, once again, not what Stiles expected. In his mind he pictured a grand table with gaudy chairs and fancy place mats - Something that reeked of tradition and grandeur and Mega-Pack. It’s more farmhouse chic than anything. The table is long and ridiculous, but it looks like a giant tree sliced in half and sanded down. The gaudy chairs are actually just two long benches, which after some thought, makes perfect sense. This was a dining room for a pack. Of course you’d want to be as close as possible to the people who brought you the most comfort in life. Stiles had never had that. Didn’t even think about what that might be like or how you might set your house up for that. What was the point of thinking about something that wasn’t going to happen? He didn’t even _want_ it to happen (that’s what he told himself, at least).

Derek pokes his head out from the kitchen and he looks much less intimidating than before. His hair is messy and there’s flour and tomato sauce smudged on his cheek. “Food’ll be done in ten. Glad you guys made it okay,” he greets with a closed-lipped smile. He nods once before disappearing back into the kitchen. Stiles is fucking confused. 

Isaac and Scott have already made themselves comfortable at the table and Stiles is just about to join them when two unfamiliar faces join the _wonderful_ soiree. Well, actually, he recognizes one of them from the bar, but he can’t seem to remember his name. 

“Boyd, Erica!” Isaac is beaming so bright it hurts Stiles eyes. Was he like this at work? There was no way, Stiles might’ve gone blind by now. 

“So this is Scott,” Erica says cooly, sizing the unfamiliar Alpha up. Scott offers her an award-winning puppy dog smile and Stiles wants to fucking punch him in the face. The goddamn, smug little dick. Where was this friendliness three hours ago? 

The two wolves slide onto the bench across from Scott and Isaac and Stiles suddenly realizes he’s standing there staring like a dumbass. Scott sends him a confused look, but it’s Isaac who speaks. “You sure you’re good, man?” 

“Oh, uh, yah. Just taking in the size of this huge ass table. How many people does this thing sit? Is the whole western coast joining us for dinner tonight? The United States Werewolf Coalition?” He’s babbling, but Isaac and Scott both take his aimless words as a sign that he’s a-okay, so he takes the opportunity to climb onto the bench next to Isaac. Because fuck Scott. 

The four of them make easy conversation and Stiles is just about ready to interject with some irrelevant information when Derek saunters into the room carrying a giant pot. He sets it down and swats away Erica’s hungry hand then leaves without a word. He comes back a few seconds later balancing plates and silverware in one hand and what appears to be a bread basket in the other. 

He joins Erica and Boyd after placing everything on the table in front of them. “It’s usually spaghetti night Saturday,” he starts, pulling off the lid of the pot. The room is instantly filled with the smell of garlic, tomato, basil, and something else (stiles just can’t figure out what it is) - Stiles’ stomach gurgles on cue. The cold pizza was long gone now. He was starving. 

“Dig in.”

The wolves are too fast and beat Stiles to it. There’s a shit-ton of food though, so he’s not too worried about getting a plateful. So, despite his bouncing leg and rumbling stomach, he waits for the others to serve themselves before he grabs a large helping for himself. He has a mouthful of spaghetti noodles hanging from his mouth when he notices that Derek has just started serving himself. He’d always thought Alpha’s ate first. 

“So, Scott. What brings you into town?” Derek asks, breaking the eat-now-talk-later silence. 

“I’m visiting Stiles, actually. We grew up together then he decided to move all the way up here in the middle of nothing,” Scott’s eyes go wide and he backtracks quickly, “I mean, no offense or anything. It’s just that I always thought Stiles would move to a big city or something. You know?” Stiles holds back a snicker and bites into a piece of garlic bread feeling smug. Derek listens calmly, showing no signs of anger or annoyance. Stiles loses his smirk. 

“Anyways, I wanted to check out the bar that he works at because If I’m being honest I really don’t like that he works there.” He shoots a look at Stiles, which Stiles ignores. 

“No one asked you to be honest,” he snarks, taking an aggressive mouthful of spaghetti.

Scott ignores him. “I mean, a single Omega working at a wolf bar? You get why I’m not a fan, right?” _Because you’re an Alpha._ Stiles knows he’s asking because Derek is an Alpha too. It wouldn’t have mattered with any other status. 

Derek swallows before speaking and glances between Scott and Stiles with an unreadable face. His eyebrows are scrunched together in thought and it makes Stiles uneasy. What was going on in the dude’s head? Stiles continues shoveling food into his mouth like he’s never eaten before in his life. 

“Most of the Omega’s here work in the community,” he says slowly, “We’re pretty self-sustaining. I gave Isaac a pretty hard time about the bar though.”

“Understatement of the year,” Isaac pipes in, arms crossed. 

“Stiles isn’t your Omega though, right? And he’s not a wolf, so the politics don’t really apply to him.” 

“Thank you!” Stiles exclaims, nearly knocking over his water in all his flailing glory. Stiles is shocked to hear Derek agree with him, even though he hadn’t actually said his opinion on the matter out loud. “I tried telling him that! I can handle myself anyways. Never met a wolf I couldn’t handle. Even on my worst days, right Isaac?” He’s looking for backup anywhere at this point, trying to drive the point home. 

Isaac looks at Scott from the corner of his eyes, shrugging. “I mean, yah, I guess. The regulars love you.” 

The conversation shifts to other topics quickly and Stiles is sure it’s because everyone can sense the tension radiating off of Scott. There’s a part of him that feels bad for his friend, but its a teeny-tiny part that he forces down with each bite of spaghetti. So he was holding a grudge, big deal. Scott of all people knew how much he hated having anyone use influence over him. It was fucked up and frankly, Stiles felt the practice was criminal. There were rallies and blog pages and instagram accounts dedicated to the plight of Omegas (wolf and not) and influence was always a prominent issue. It was unfair, especially since Omega’s didn’t hold the same level of power. 

The flask is burning a hole in his pocket and he taps it idly as everyone chatters away.

\- * -

They stay at Derek’s for a long time. Stiles has already emptied his flask and his cheeks are slightly flushed, but he still feels too sober. The moon is high in the sky and even as a human he can feel the tingly energy clinging to every surface in the house.

They’re all currently piled into the living room, arms and legs starting and ending together. The room is amazing, Stiles can’t even deny it. He’s the farthest away from everyone with just his foot touching Isaac’s and he hates how content he feels. It makes him want to crawl out of his skin. His empty apartment is laughing at him, even from 30 miles away. 

Stiles catches Derek looking at him a total of seven times. Sometimes the Alpha’s face is soft and laced with kind smiles and other times it looks like he’s trying to solve the worlds hardest math problem. Both faces make Stiles’ fingers ache the way they do before a panic attack. He avoids the feeling by sitting on his hands and talking about the bar with Isaac. Derek and Scott talk about packs (like Scott would know anything about that, since Jackson and Allison are all he has) and Stiles wonders if he could sneak out to the car and just go home before he passes out on the living room floor. He decides against it. 

“How long has the pack been here?” he asks. His eyes are closed and he’s lying flat on his back with his hands tucked under his butt. He can’t tell if anyone is looking at him, but he guesses that at least Derek is. 

“Over a hundred and fifty years, give or take. We used to have more land, but after my parents died we lost a lot of it. I was young at the time and clueless about politics.” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice - Stiles knows the sound well - but it’s not all-consuming the way Stiles’ thoughts were sometimes. “We’re lucky, compared to most packs. We have a lot of our original land and we’ve never had to relocate.” 

“Still fucked up,” Stiles mumbles, rubbing a hand over his eyes. 

“Yah, still fucked up,” Derek agrees. There’s a smile on his face, but Stiles doesn’t see it because he’s falling asleep. The warmth of pack is too much to resist (Stiles will tell you it was a mixture of a good meal and an empty flask).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one is kind of short, i struggled a bit with the direction i wanted to take this dinner. hope you liked it, but if you didn't that's ok too! this is my first time trying to stick with a story so bare with me please :-) 
> 
> there is more to come!


End file.
